


all my favourite conversations

by transstevebucky



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Asexuality, Coming Out, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Makeup, Nonbinary Character, Pining, it's pr, kind of? they dont really hare each other, louis and zayn are both ace and nonbinary, louis thinks zayn is very pretty, zayn is an r&b artist louis is a pop artist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 20:14:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5347160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transstevebucky/pseuds/transstevebucky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>au. louis and zayn are meant to hate each other. they really, really don't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all my favourite conversations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PineConeLouis (donnyslouis)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=PineConeLouis+%28donnyslouis%29).



> SO i didn't mean to write this but then i thought about it for maybe three seconds and suddenly i had 4k of them being ridiculous and putting makeup on each other, so i guess this is a thing now.
> 
> this is dedicated to mika and it's all entirely their fault.

There’s been chatter for months about them supposedly hating each other, and of course this is how it comes to a head. Because Louis’s team hates him, apparently.

“But why are they saying we need to sit next to each other? All of them were trying to get me to tweet a sly dig at him last week!” He’s shrugging on his (shabby-chic, as Harry would call it) jacket, nose wrinkled at his assistant, and she just lets out a long-suffering sigh that makes his skin itch.

“It’s about the promo for your next album,” Eleanor reminds him, tucking his collar back, like he’s some kind of _child_ who has no idea what he’s doing. He can’t believe this is happening to him. What did he ever do to the universe to deserve this?

“It doesn’t matter whether you want it or not, at this stage. Just deal with it.” She continues, and Louis lets out one, cut-off, high-pitched yell to show how irritated he is by this. He thinks it’s fair; he’s had to ‘just deal’ with everything that’s been thrown at him thus far, as if hearing questions about his sex life doesn’t make him deeply uncomfortable. As if he doesn’t want to be creating a safer space for his fans. It’s a constant circle, and he’s sick of it. He’s sick of having to cope with everything as it comes, of having to just praying that the people in charge know what they’re doing (they don’t, as he’s told Harry multiple times over his wine glass).

Eleanor smacks him on the arm lightly, and Louis is considering joking about suing her; before he realises that’s actually something he could do, and that it’s not worth scaring her. El’s the best person on his team, arguably; kind, compassionate, and there for him. She also doesn’t take any of his shit, which might be some of the reason he gets irritated at her. He’s pretty sure she knows he loves her, though (he hopes that the flat he’d bought for her speaks for that). It’s just that she’s the first line of people he can be angry at, and he knows he shouldn’t, and that she’s not directly involved, but. It’s tough, is the thing. Trying to separate who _is_ at fault and who isn’t, because he’s been played too many times.

El helps him step into his (brand new, because apparently he can’t wear anything twice or his feet will explode) Vans, and she giggles way too loud when he almost brains himself on the edge of the makeup counter. A traitor to the force.

That’s when Harry (predictably) finds him, his green eyes glinting at the way Louis’s bent over double in pain. Because all of the people he loves most are arseholes, apparently. He’s going to get an injunction on every single one of them.

“If you’re going to make a joke about how this is the first time I’ve ever been in this position, I will personally slit your throat with my teeth.” Louis deadpans, straightening up and patting El on the shoulder as she squeezes past Harry and into the corridor. She makes it three steps before she’s cackling, which is an honourable feat, honestly. Louis was only hoping for a wait of two seconds. She’s a great friend, really.

“I would _never_ ,” Harry says, hand on heart, “I’m a loyal and good friend, and it’s positively _ace_ that you almost cracked your skull open trying to put on those shoes.”

Louis blinks slowly at him, trying to calm himself before he does something ridiculous, like snap Harry clean in two an hour before an awards ceremony.

“I’m going to let you live,” Louis smiles, serene, because he’s a Calm Human Being, “because I know that I can make far more impressive arrow puns.”

Harry narrows his eyes, mouth opening up like a frog trying to get a fly, but is then swiftly cut off by Eleanor re-entering the room, Lou in tow.

Louis does not, would _never,_ grunt in irritation. It’s just. He can do his makeup better than Lou can, honestly, and the fact that she never _lets him_ is so disappointing. Harry would never let him down like this. (Like, sure, Harry might be his best mate/person who comes along with him on tour all the time/not officially part of the team _,_ but at least he lets Louis put makeup on him to test it out. At least Harry is courteous about it. Lou’s just plain rude.)

“Lou, listen, I’m not trying to be funny but I can do it just as well as you can,” he almost lets himself say _if not better_ , before he realises that he can’t do that without getting slapped. So he just. Sighs and lets her do her thing, as messily as that is.

It only takes a minute, because she’s a big believer in him staying ‘natural-looking’, which Louis thinks is a fairly cisgender response to makeup. What if he had a smoky-eye? What then.

She smiles at him after, and he just sighs and smiles back, tight lipped and full of vague, undirected rage. He wishes he could just tear her apart on twitter, but someone would probably interpret it to be about Zayn; and anyway, he hasn’t tweeted more than forty times himself in the past two years. Something about ‘making sure to stay calm and collected’ which essentially equates to ‘staying closeted and annoyed by it’, as far as he’s concerned.

“Thanks, Lou,” he grits out, even though he barely means it. He’s so polite. He should get an award, probably. He can’t believe he deals with this cis bullshit on the daily.

Harry pats him on the back, presses a kiss to his cheek, and sighs, “I’m sorry you can’t just do your own makeup, babe.”

Louis wrinkles his nose, but leans in to kiss Harry on the mouth anyway. It’s a thing they have, have had since Louis was eight years old and Harry was six. They’ve spent a lot of time kissing in their friendship, as a comfort thing and as a time-passer, and neither of them have meant anything at all except that they mean a lot to each other. Louis doesn’t really know what he’d do if Harry wasn’t on tour with him right now. (Well, facetime him at all times of the day and night, probably, but he doesn’t like to think about how much of a sap he is. It ruins his street cred.)

It’s barely a peck, but it helps to calm Louis’s (obviously non-existent, he’s a strong and capable performer who is never terrified of red carpets) nerves anyway. There’s just something nice about getting to be close to people, and knowing that it doesn’t have to be sexual or romantic, that it can just _be_ and it’s not confusing to either of them. It’s special, and it’s theirs, and it’s the best part of his day, probably.

“I guess it’s time to go,” Louis mumbles, biting his lip, “isn’t it?”

Harry lets a grin take over his face before he nods, “It’s time for the prince to enter the carriage like he’s never entered anything before.”

Louis smacks him across the back of the head.

___________

The camera flashes are something Louis’s still not used to, even after five years of being in the spotlight. He doesn’t think he’d ever _want_ to get used to it, to just reach a level of nonchalance about the fact people love him and actually care about him and his music. It’s still breath-taking, as difficult as it can get sometimes, as irritating as it is to have a fake feud with someone he’s only met once. He’s pretty sure Harry would just punch him if he started getting too big-headed, so. There’s that.

He shuffles to the door, tucks his fingers into Harry’s, and exits the car.

It’s the screams that hit him next, like a tidal wave crashing over onto the shore, and he just has to stand there for a couple seconds, Harry in tow, staring at all the tearful and _ecstatic_ faces.

“Is that your boyfriend?” Someone screams to his left, and Harry makes a cutting motion across his throat in their general direction. Louis just grins. His friendship with Harry has always confused his fans (And the media), because ever since the beginning they’ve been open about kissing in public and being affectionate, and no one ever believes they’re not dating. Mostly, it’s fun to fuel the rumours.

(He won’t mention the fact it gets too much sometimes, the sex jokes about he and Harry, the idea that he has to have sex to be a good person, the idea that he’s not worth anything if he’s not regularly getting laid. He won’t mention the nights he’s spent curled up next to Harry, his mum on the other end of the line, hands shaking because people keep sending him explicit tweets.

There’s a flurry of signing papers and taking selfies, and being separated from Harry to talk to interviewers, and that’s when Zayn arrives, and it’s like the whole world freezes and turns towards him.

The thing is, everyone had been talking about how it was so odd that they were going to be sitting near each other, everyone had been talking about how they were going to be tearing each other in two. The thing is, at this point in time, halfway through an interview, Zayn Malik climbing out of his car, he can’t think of anything except how _pretty_ Zayn is.

Like, objectively, of course he’d _known_ that, but. He’s never seen him in person before, and it’s a little bit. Bewildering. He’s bewildered.

“Louis, did you hear that?” The interviewer’s asking, brown hair flicking into his face as she leans in to yell, straight into his ear. It’s only his years of media training that keeps him from doing it, and he just smiles kindly instead, as if his whole world hasn’t just fallen apart under his feet.

Because, like, how is Louis supposed to pretend he hates Zayn with all of his bitter heart, when he’s out on the carpet looking like _that_.

“Sorry, love, I’m easily distracted,” she’s charmed immediately, and she repeats the question.

It’s about Zayn, because of course it is. Of course she’d ask about it; their so-called ‘feud’ is pretty much rooted in music history, at this point. Everyone that he’s talked to in the last year and a half has asked about it. Hell, even his own _mum_ asked about it, and told him that he should really be nicer to the poor lad.

Louis, somehow, even after his years of media training and his constant schooling on what he can and can’t say about Zayn, is left stuck for words. He’s speechless. He’s actually speechless because there’s a good-looking person on the red carpet, ten feet away from him.

He is a weak, spineless man and he needs to be stopped.

“I’ve actually never met Zayn,” he says, and that, of course, is the precise moment that Zayn walks right past him, smirk on his face.

Louis is ready to throw his whole body into a meat grinder.

The screams that come after that moment are ones that will be forever put into Louis’s ‘think about when you feel shitty to make yourself feel even worse’ mental vault. He knows it. He can feel it. He is in hell and Zayn is the hell ringleader, poking him with his pointed tail and telling him to jump into the vat of lava beneath him. Louis would do it at a drop of a hat.

“Well,” the interviewer begins, before someone yanks Louis by the arm and tells him they need to start getting seated.

He’s three seconds from yelling out expletives he didn’t even know he _knew_ a minute before, when he realises it’s just Alberto. He calms down, throws a (probably frantic) looking smile over his shoulder, and they shuffle inside.

Like, on the one hand, this is horrifying, because he’s going to be sat next to Zayn Malik for three hours, someone the world thinks he hates, but on the other hand, he’s going to be sat next to Zayn Malik for three hours. And, like, that’s a fair gift, he thinks. Zayn’s pretty enough to make up for any lingering doubt running through his mind, probably.

Alberto stands at the door and tells him to get moving; not even leaving him time to ask where Harry is (like, he’s probably in the toilets, but Louis worries) before he’s shoving him towards the front row. Because he’s sitting in the front row. Amazing.

There’s probably something to be said about this, the fact that he’s doomed to be caught in eighty percent of the night’s official shots, especially considering his company. He wishes he’d had a piss before he came. He’s a little scared he might wet himself from nerves the second Zayn sits down.

Which. It turns out, isn’t a problem. Because. Zayn’s already there, face carefully masked into nonchalance, almost boredom. As if he hadn’t just had an interview last week telling the world that he is, in fact, a giant goof.

Not that Louis takes note of any of Zayn’s articles or anything. Not at all. Just… Know thy enemy, or something.

“Tomlinson,” he greets, and his eyes aren’t void of warmth. Actually, he looks kind of amused.

Louis isn’t going to get into a fight on national television tonight, then. That’s... good to know.

“Malik,” Louis greets back, cordial and sweet, because for all he knows Zayn might just be playing with his food before he chews him up and spits him out. He really hopes that’s not the case. Zayn’s so pretty.

Zayn grins, then, legs bumping against Louis’s as they settle into their seats, and Louis barely has three seconds to get used to the physical contact before Zayn’s leaning in and kissing him on the cheek.

His heart does _not_ stutter in his chest, because that would be ridiculous. It’s just. There’s a huge difference between casually kissing your best friend, and getting kissed on the cheek by your supposed enemy. It’s. A little startling. Louis is ready to die.

“It’s amazing to meet the person I’m meant to hate after so long,” Louis breathes out, praying that Zayn can’t hear the stutter in his voice. He’s fucking _nervous._ Zayn’s actually shaken him up. This is awful and not at all what he had planned.

Zayn cackles, though, eyes creasing up and glinting with stars, and Louis just thinks _oh, no_ , before the music that had been playing stops.

“Ladies and gentleman,” the overhead announcer says, before a light shines on the stage and illuminates Taylor Swift.

Of all fucking people, honestly.

Zayn lets out one, short burst of laughter as she starts singing, and Louis has to cover his whole face with his hands. He can’t believe that out of all the people that could have started the show, who would have been _harmless,_ Louis made Zayn laugh during a Taylor Swift performance. He’s going to get Zayn sued for all he’s worth.

Zayn is going to slit his throat right here, on the front row of the awards show.

Except he _doesn’t._ He just keeps grinning, hand suddenly landing on Louis’s thigh, like they’re friends, and. Holy shit. Is this companionship? Is this some kind of conspiracy to make Louis believe he’s safe, but in actuality Zayn’s just going to cut off his blood supply until he passes out and ruins the AMA’s for everyone?

The camera keeps panning to them, Louis knows it, so he makes sure to look like he’s enjoying Taylor’s performance and not actually freaking out because Zayn’s hand is brushing his.

It’s just towards the end of the song, when Louis thinks _It’s all going to be okay_ , when he suddenly gets a really, really reckless idea.

It’s absurd. He shouldn’t do it. There’s no way no one is going to notice this. Hell, both Louis and Zayn are nominated for awards tonight, and he _knows_ that he’s going to win. His fans have been way too dedicated for him to not win. It’d be disrespectful, or rude, or some kind of breach in AMA contract, and he’ll be banned from every awards ceremony for the next thirty years.

He asks anyway. Because he’s a fucking loser, and he wants to be Zayn’s friend, whatever that means, and they’re not going to get to do it sat watching people getting awards. It’s going to be an Active Friendship, of which Louis will be an Active Participant, and it’ll all be fine. Maybe. Probably.

“You wanna get out of here and do each other’s makeup and talk about the failures of the industry?” He asks, leaning in close to Zayn’s neck. He can smell his _own brand of cologne_ on him. Zayn wore Louis’s fucking cologne to an awards ceremony they’d be sat next to each other at. Jesus Christ. Jesus _Christ._

“Thought you’d never ask.”

___________

Alberto doesn’t even notice when they leave, both of them clambering over each other to get into the waiting car. It’s almost like God shined upon them and told them that they could sin in peace today. Louis’s heart is so full.

“Where we going?” Zayn stretches out on the seat, legs longer than Louis’s (but still shorter than Harry’s, because Harry’s a fucking Sasquatch, probably) and confined in tight skinny jeans that have rips in the knees, that Zayn publicly tweeted about doing himself.

“I’ve got a flat a few miles out, if that’s alright?” Zayn does nothing but nod, grin stretching over his mouth like some kind of all-knowing Cheshire cat.

“You often take pretty people out of a national award’s ceremony to make them look prettier than they already are?” He smirks, voice clear and smooth.

Louis, despite himself, smirks back. “It’s my kink, actually.”

Zayn looks momentarily confused, eyes opening in horror, about to scream for help or something, before Louis’s bending over double and squeaking out these ridiculous high-pitched giggles that his fans love to call ‘endearing’.

Zayn kicks him square in the gut for it, but it’s worth it for the fact he actually worried him. He can’t believe that he actually managed to unsettle Invincible and Collected Zayn Malik. He’s going to put this in a fucking auto-biography; “ _I made Zayn Malik scared for his life once. Would totally do it again_.”

“You think you’re so fucking funny, don’t you,” Zayn whines, and pouts at him. Which? Should honestly not be allowed, in Louis’s humble opinion.

“This is it,” calls Stefan, a sixty year old with a family that he doesn’t see often enough. Louis should get him a raise. “We’ve arrived.”

“Thanks, darling,” Louis grins, leaning over his seat and kissing him on his cheek, and proceeding to clamber out of his door after Zayn.

The flat’s not much, because Louis doesn’t stay here often, much prefers the colder climate of London, or the homely feel of Doncaster, but it’s enough. It has makeup, which is essentially all Louis needs right now, so.

Zayn stays quiet as Louis types in his door code, greeting his doorman on the way in but mostly just staying so close to Louis’s back that he can feel how warm his skin is. Like a space heater. (Harry’s the same way, but it’s different. He’s always known that. It’s the fact he _gets_ to learn this about Zayn that’s exciting.)

They climb the stairs together, and when they finally get through Louis’s door, Zayn wastes no time in flopping on the couch and telling Louis his flat needs a clean-up. Christ. Louis brought his fucking mum along, apparently.

He wanders through the flat to his bedroom to grab his (admittedly very large) makeup collection, and comes back to the living room to sit opposite Zayn on the sofa. Zayn just looks at peace, as if he’s been here a hundred times before, which is actually kind of nice. It’s _nice_ feeling like he can just be himself around Zayn, as if they were just meant to meet and do… whatever it is they’re doing.

“What do you want?” Louis asks, opening up a pack of baby wipes and scrubbing his face clean. It always feels so _wrong_ when Lou does it, it’s never right for his skin. He hopes Zayn isn’t disappointed by this, that he didn’t expect anything else.

Which. Is a bit of a nauseating thought, because. He just wants to be Zayn’s friend, and maybe his boyfriend (he hasn’t let himself think about that much, because he refuses to be thinking about that as if it’s plausible to place romantic relationships higher than platonic ones). He just. Doesn’t want to have sex with him. Or anyone. And that’s okay, but sometimes it can feel a bit like a hand clamped around his throat, like he’s meant to want these things, like his relationships are worthless without sex. Like _he’s_ worthless without sex.

He just pokes at the eyeshadow palette and waits for Zayn to reply, trying to push down those thoughts. They won’t do him any good.

“I’ve always wanted to try a darker purple smoky-eye? That might sound a bit specific, actually. Sorry.” Zayn says, but he just smiles anyway. Like it’s just something he wants, and it’s okay to want it. That… is strangely nice.

Louis starts getting it ready, making sure to get Zayn to clean his face (“Are you calling me dirty?”), before he leans in and starts priming his eyes. It’s always soothing, doing this, just slowly transforming someone into a piece of art. Louis’s never really liked art, but he can appreciate the sentiment. He thinks he could start liking it if Zayn were the subject.

Zayn’s breaths are soft, warm, little huffs that smell like smoke and posh champagne. Louis wouldn’t mind tasting it from his tongue.

He blushes, fingers slipping a bit as he opens the eyeshadow case, but recovers himself quickly. He’s smooth. The smoothest. A smoothie person.

He holds still weirdly well, like he’s done this a hundred times before, and. Actually, maybe he has. Maybe he’s also sat in the chair and thought about doing a better job, or maybe he’s just let people do it to him.

He wonders aloud, because he has no filter, “Do you do this often?”

“What, makeup?” Zayn asks, and Louis makes sure his nod is hard enough to shake his shoulders, so Zayn can feel it. “Not often as I’d like, but my sisters tell me I’m gifted at it. I usually just practice on myself, but of course no one _lets_ me wear my style outside.” Louis’s pretty sure that he would roll his eyes if they weren’t occupied.

“Same with me,” Louis agrees, brushing off some excess powder and tilting his head to check that it’s not patchy, “said that they can’t have me looking ‘noticeably androgynous’ or people will start questioning it. Personally, I think that’s just cis talk for ‘I’m boring and don’t know how to have fun’, but that’s just me.”

He doesn’t even realise what he’s said until Zayn giggles, teeth clamping over his plump bottom lip into a wolfish grin.

“They gave you that whole trans talk too, then? The whole ‘it’ll give too much bad attention’ PR bullshit that just translates to transphobia and fear of people actually feeling comfortable in themselves?” Zayn asks, barely moving his head to make sure that Louis doesn’t mess up.

And. It’s so, so lovely to get to talk about this, because Harry might be his best friend but he doesn’t _get_ the whole gender thing like Zayn clearly does. There’s something to be said about feeling at home with people, about feeling like someone understands you and how your brain works, and as much as Harry supports Louis, there are some parts he’ll never understand. But Zayn _does_.

“Never stop, honestly,” Louis grunts, smudging some eyeliner on to Zayn’s waterline, “keep saying shit like ‘the world isn’t ready’ and ‘it’s too many labels’, as if they’re not all cisgender heterosexuals who just hate not being the norm. I just want to be out and happy, you know? Like, I love my job, and my fans, but it’d mean so much more to me if I got to be a safe space for them, and tell them they’re not broken or weird.”

Zayn lets out an agreeing hum, clearly just wanting Louis to continue, and there’s something so sweet about that the next thing Louis asks is “are you alright for me to kiss you?”

Zayn doesn’t even reply before he’s leaning up, pressing his lips to Louis’s with a slight whimper. It’s cute, that he’s so into this. Louis likes it. He kisses back, letting the eyeshadow pot fall onto their laps between them, loving the fact that the longer they kiss the softer Zayn’s mouth is, that it gets easier for it to just feel like this is a normal thing that happens all the time, like they haven’t just met.

Louis would like it to be a forever kind of thing. But he won’t let Zayn know that.

___________

**Are Zayn Malik and Louis Tomlinson dating?**

By Anne-Marie Wilson

_The pair were spotted again in the streets of L.A., a whole two months after their mystery disappearance from the AMA’s. Malik and Tomlinson, rumoured to be rivals and (by many) enemies, have since deleted the venomous tweets thrown at each other on social media. Is love in the air? Leave your thoughts in the comments section below!_

Louis closes the article three minutes before he and Zayn send their coming out tweets, sitting in the window of a café in Los Angeles, and they both agree.

This is definitely a forever kind of thing.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [fic post](http://arohug.tumblr.com/post/134495784896/all-my-favourite-conversations-pairing-zayn%20) || [my tumblr](http://arohug.tumblr.com/)
> 
> comments and kudos are much appreciated :D


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